


Everything was disgustingly pink.

by 12d3



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Abuse, Content warning for vomiting, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Minor Violence, Other, Phase Three (Gorillaz)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7364926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/12d3/pseuds/12d3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>my first fanfic on this website, hope you like it! basically about how fucking horrid the plastic beach was, and the toll it had on 2d, plus some shit that went down while he was held there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> quick note i wrote this chapter nearly 2 years ago so there are a few mistakes and shit like that, but im gonna keep it that way so i can look back at this as reference for improvement. thank you so much for reading <3

2d let out a chocked sob as his stomach convulsed again, and yet another surge of bile came out his mouth. For the third time this week, he was awkwardly bent over the toilet, his limbs all too long and lanky and getting in the way. Ever since Murdoc had locked him down in the basement of the Plastic Beach, 2d had been ripped from his semi-luxurious life in Beirut, where he had a practically endless supply of painkillers, and all the time in the world to lay about in his flat and do whatever he wished, keeping his acute migraines dulled and at bay.  
  
However, this was no longer the case.  
  
In the bunker where 2d was held prisoner, there were no painkillers, let alone doctors. Aside from the occasional onslaught of bullets from airborne attackers or rare event where a collaborator would travel to the Plastic Beach to work on a track, the island was empty except for Murdoc, Noodle, and 2d himself. The lights (which were lacking in a switch accessible to 2d,) were always on at full power, constantly sending a blanket of dazzling yellow-tinted light onto everything that wasn't hidden by a suspicious plastic cover, direct orders of Murdoc. Due to the bunker being so far under the sea, it was constantly bone-chillingly cold in the room, especially near the noisy vents that pumped fresh air into the basement. To make things worse, there was hardly anything to keep cool with, aside from a thin bedsheet and a miniature comforter that seemed to be woven out of polyester and then sprinkled with wax. 2d was practically forced to dump all of his clothes onto the bed for extra warmth, or else he would be too bitterly cold to get even close to falling asleep.  
  
As he thought about all the horrible things about the Plastic Beach, 2d began to grow more heated, which only sent more waves of needle-sharp pain through his skull and down his back. With a foul belch, his stomach hitched and he bent his head, ready to rid of whatever was coming up, but nothing came. With shaky knees, he pushed himself up off the ground and practically dragged himself against the wall the entire trip back to his bed. As soon as he laid down in the bed, the sudden change of position send blood rushing to his head, causing his dulling headache to snap right back into a shot-to-the-skull migraine. 2d whined and dared to open his eyes, squinting up at the ceiling, but instantly regretted it.   
  
Everything was disgustingly pink.  
  
The bedsheets, the walls, the tupperware boxes his meals were stuffed in then carelessly thrown through the door. Perhaps if the color weren't so brash, 2d might have even enjoyed it; he had always had a small soft spot for muted colors. Of course, the pink wasn't some variety of lavender or an imitation of a pale rose, but it was more like a brazen stab to the eye, carrying with it the memories of all things twisted and revolting about humanity's twisted affect on the planet. What better way to represent that, than the Plastic Beach itself? What a fitting color.  
  
2d laid in the bed for a long while in the same position, fearing that if he moved to suddenly or too much, he would be thrown right back into the vicious cycle of spilling his guts out of pain. The gentle ebb and sway of the bunker due to the water eventually soothed his nerves a bit, and, slowly but surely, 2d felt his tensed muscles relax and his throbbing skull eventually sooth over. Before he knew it, sleep had claimed him, and the bliss feeling of relaxation filled his subconscious thoughts.

~

Thank the stars, his migraine was gone. For now, at least.  
  
With a groan of effort, 2d hauled himself up onto his feet, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. He certainly didn't feel great, but being able to open his eyes was a start. After using the restroom and throwing on a different change of clothes (which was practically the same exact outfit he had on before, except the shirt had different colored stripes,) 2d went for the door, but then stopped himself short, forgetting momentarily that he was prisoner. Fantastic. Now to wait for the cyborg to bring him food, or maybe pray that Murdoc would be in a less-than-foul mood and would let him take a stroll around the Plastic Beach.  
  
Just as he was about to sit back and mindlessly watch the same zombie flick he had been watching for the past few weeks, - months? -  there was a sharp and pristine knocking at the door, followed by a monotone voice calling 2d's name. It sounded so distant, so fake.. it took another more violent knock to get him to jump up and answer. He had to crouch to peer through the teeny window in the door, and heart jumped as he locked focus with a singular, uncanny eye staring right back through; it must be the cyborg. "Stand clear." Her voice sent chills down 2d's spine, forcing out a small yip of fear from his throat. Cyborg was so, strange.. She sounded and looked literally exactly like Noodle, and her guitar and vocal skills were just as on-point.   
  
Yet, at the same time, she was absolutely _nothing_ like Noodle.  
  
Noodle was sharp-witted, kind, and full of passion and emotion. She was, well, real. And, and, when she disappeared.. while these strains of thoughts rocketed through 2d's mind, he had practically phased out of reality for a moment, but snapped back into it when he realized Cyborg had unlocked the door and placed a cold, unforgiving hand on his bare shoulder.   
  
"What're you-"  
  
Without speaking, Cyborg pushed him through the exit of the basement, and towards the stairs that led to the surface. This was his first time leaving the teeny room since he arrived; a mixture of excitement and fear blossomed in his chest, and yet, he didn't dare to look up from his feet. No way was this good, but he was just so desperate to escape his prison, all of his fear was being numbed into a gentle hum of anxiety in his chest.   
  
Finally, they reached the tip of the stairs, and 2d practically hissed at the direct sunlight. It scalded his light complexion and convinced him he was getting instantly sunburnt, yet, at the same time seemed to bring life back into his veins, the friendly warmth of the sun soaking into his skin and chasing out all of the exaustion and coldness from his gelid bones. He stopped walking for a moment, squinting up at the sky, but was immediately shoved in the back by Cyborg.  
  
"Keep walking. We are going to the shore." 2d obeyed without hesitation, swallowing and daring to take a sideways glance at Cyborg. She really was the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen; aside from whales and Carrot Top. Whenever she spoke, a nearly silent humming static could be heard, and her voice squeaked and hitched at random times, as if she were about to snap and go on some violent robot-cliche rampage at any moment. As she moved, 2d was certain he could hear gears squeak, wires snap, and bloopy warning bells go off. The way she moved and spoke was such a precise imitation of the behavior of a real human being, yet she was still nothing like a real human.   
  
2d pulled himself from yet another enlogenated strain of thoughts about the cyborg. He usually didn't.. think. Perhaps isolation was having a toll on him.  
  
He managed to silence his mind for the rest of the walk, focusing mainly on not tripping on the rough terrain of landfill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so so much for reading!! this is my first shot at writing, so it means a lot to me! im going to try and update every few days since its summer and i have nothing else to do lmao


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just now remembered i have this account so i'm gonna start writing stuff again :3 i'd really love a critique!! <3

"That'll do it. Off with yah, then." Cyborg only gave a hint of a nod as a response and proceeded to turn around and leave as precisely as she had came, not even leaving an echo of her footprints. 2d audibly gulped and discreetly watched the metal door clink shut, once again thankful for the advantage of having barren and untraceable eyes, but also cursing whatever god was most likely casting a cruel punishment upon 2d from above (or down below) which consisted of locking him in a room alone with Murdoc.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

2d gulped again, flicking his gaze back over to his captor, who was currently facing him while slumping in an offensively battered bright pink desk chair, tapping his booted foot on the ground while gazing 2d up and down with an unmistakably irritated look. His gnarled hands gripped his slim shoulders, obscenely long (and inhumanly sharp) nails digging into the greasy fabric of this week's long-sleeved shirt. A yellowed, blood-shot eye twitched as Murdoc cleared his throat, his expression contorting a bit more as the brows which were covered by a thick fringe knotted tighter together. Funnily enough, and also familiarly enough, the neutral tone to the old tosser's uniquely corrosive voice fit like an incorrect puzzle piece to his beyond-sultry expression.

"Listen, 'D. We've got a few guests here, and you're gonna do some vocals for us." 2d didn't even attempt to hide a sneer at the misuse of the almost affectionate nickname, but crossed his arms in a cautious yet intrigued response. "You're lookin'  _exceptionally_ like an eyesore today, so get the hell on with it and finish up real nice and quick so I can get you out of my sight." 2d opened his mouth and drew in a breath to attempt a sharp witted response, so ready to give Murdoc a helping of his own venom-flavored medicine, to show him that-

" _Shut it._ " Murdoc growled, pushing himself up off the chair and taking a few intimidating paces towards the taller man. "Don't even fuckin' _think_ about opening that misshapen little trap of yours or else I'll shove a rotten seagull down your sorry gullet, you understand?"

Ah, there it goes. Murdoc's tone had quickly dropped to the growly-grovely and genuinely pissed sound that he often spoke in during the production of their second album, usually reserved for 2d-scolding-sessions. 2d's mouth shut as quickly as he decided he didn't want to spend yet another night icing the (literally) bloody bruise delivered by Murdoc, and did an intimidation of Cyborg's half-nod, muttering a " _yessir_ " under his breath and turning tail to head into the recording room.

"Just use the microphone up front and sing off the words on the paper, got it, dullard?" Murdoc sneered as 2d struggled with the heavy door, reassuming an irritatingly infantile voice.

Not even bothering to respond, 2d continued into the room, distracting himself with the relief and excitement of finally being able to develop an actual song again. Music had been the blue-haired beauty's first love, ever since he was a drooling, pink-cheeked giggling child pulling simple tunes from a ukulele the size of his torso. Ever since he was a backwards middle schooler blasting too-loud early punk music and feeling quite superior while taking long drags from a stolen cigarette, watching his mates go to town on an ugly, pink stolen car with a stolen baseball bat.

Ever since he fell from a tree and dented his skull and sat there in mum's bed, shuddering and screaming in pain, the woman pushing his thinning sweat-drenched hair from an unsightly bruised forehead, humming love-drenched lullabies which, after months of the same routine, turned into simple mindless murmurs of pop songs while she spilled a couple of (probably illegal) bright pink painkillers into his mouth and left the room, mind occupied by other things than her damaged son.

Ever since he was a young adult, spending late nights which always turned into early mornings on his roof, smoking enough pot to cool the nerve of an entire crew of fast-food workers, mindlessly scratching away at his bruised thighs with pink-flushed and delicate hands, smoothy singing a newly written song to the moon and the stars, feeling incredibly and infinitely and simply _indescribably_ content and in love, in love with everything. The music, the art, the world. He brought a notepad with him pretty much everywhere to record little poetic strains of abstract thought that seemed to fly through his head more often than actual critical ideas.

Memories of standing chest deep in the pink-tinted Caribbean waters with his band while they were on tour danced in his mind; the salty, clean smell of the ocean, her powerful and yet infinitely gentle waves lapping upon 2d's milky skin, the way the star that literally keeps the solar system in tact beaming down onto everything, gracing it with melted silver, golden, and copper light.

2d taking his hand from the seashell-filled pocket of his swimming trunks to run his long fingers through the water, in awe at the way the tide pulled and pushed, pulled and pushed, its surface shimmering and splitting and returning with scattered diamonds of light, leaving 2d's hand coated in the earthly synovia, glittering just as majestically against his calloused hand. Of course, it wasn't long before he was scolded by one of his bandmates for not thinking and to " _get your drooly-faced doped-up ass the hell back from the deeper waters before you get yourself killed and leave us short a singer._ " (That one was probably from Murdoc.)

Huh, funny. That phrase seemed to be thrown at him a lot. _You're not thinking_.

2d did think, he was pretty sure. Just not in the same way as other people, apparently.

What perfect time to dawn upon that realization, as 2d received a very sudden and very painful ticket back into reality, which was a metal-soled shoe hitting him right in the back of the head, hard enough to most certainly leave a knot but just gentle enough to leave him in excusable condition to sing. He immediately flew his skinny arms around the back of his head, 2d's tongue getting caught under his mess of misshapen teeth and turning his angry shout into a spitty fit of curses.

"Do us all a favor and get the fuck on with it, yeah? Some of us have better things to do than stand around and drool." Murdoc called from the doorway of the room, obviously pissed with 2d for zoning out smack in the middle of a recording session, but grinning at the poorly-hidden snickers that came from a couple of their guest artists.

An empty nod was the only response Murdoc received from that stunt, which was a much less amused response to the overzealous outburst over missing a verse in a song than the other collaborators displayed. Still, they all worried back to their respective positions, lifting guitars and adjusting headphones.

2d sighed, clearing his throat and pulling the mic closer to his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2d didn't like being held captive on plastic beach. thanks for coming to my ted talk


End file.
